


Sparring Practice

by Windborn



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Family, Friendship, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-16 00:19:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3467420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Windborn/pseuds/Windborn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A surprising request from a proud little girl turns into quite the headache for Prince Cailan. Elissa Cousland might only be a child, but her fierce determination leaves little doubt that one day, she'll be one of the most formidable fighters in Ferelden.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sparring Practice

"Spar with me."

Cailan jumped. Leaning against the fence beside him, Fergus broke off mid-sentence and craned his head to look. At his resigned sigh, Nathaniel chuckled.

"I win," he murmured.

"Yes, yes. I'll pay you later."

Baffled, Cailan turned. He almost didn't recognize the girl, in her tattered leather armor. Dirt smudged her face and hands, and the knees poking out beneath the fauld were skinned and grass-stained. In one hand, she held a battered, wooden short sword. Straw-colored hair hung around her face in lank, sweaty tangles, and her eyes met his unflinchingly, murky as a stormy sky, resolute as stone.

"Elissa--what?"

"Spar with me, I said."

Cailan glanced at Fergus, but the Cousland heir just shrugged, unsurprised by his sister's demand. Cailan dropped to one knee, faced the girl at eye level. "Now why would you want to do that, little one?"

"I'm not little," Elissa answered, with all her mother's tetchy decorum. "I'm eleven."

For eleven, he thought, she was tiny. Still, it was bad form to upset a lady, whatever her age. "My apologies. Of course. But why with me?"

She answered slowly, clearly, as if to a half-wit. "For practice. What else is sparring for?"

"Fergus--"

"Don't worry, Father won't skin you for it. He knows. She corners our guards all the time."

Cailan got to his feet, brushed the dirt from his trousers. "Fair enough, but why? Shouldn't she have a sparring partner more . . . well . . . her size?" He finished almost in a whisper.

"I do," Elissa said. "Gilmore. So will you, or not?"

Mystified, Cailan just stared.

Nathaniel rescued him. "Lissa, what are the consequences of combat?"

"You win, or you die."

"Exactly so."

Such a bitter truth from such a little girl! He rounded on Nathaniel. "Have you?"

"Yes. Several times."

Fergus shrugged. "She's not worried about winning, Cailan. But if she can learn just to survive and escape a larger, stronger opponent . . . and now, at this age . . . "

That made more sense. She would be a formidable adult, if she kept this up. Well, if Fergus--and more importantly, Bryce--wasn't going to object . . . "Very well." He grinned. "Did you bring another--"

Elissa fetched a second sword leaning against the fence a few feet behind her, where she'd apparently left it before getting his attention.

"Prepared. Very good." He took the glorified stick, made a show of testing its weight and balance, and assumed a defensive stance. "Ready?"

She looked at him a little oddly, but raised her weapon.

Moving out of the way, Fergus briefly clapped Cailan on the shoulder. "Just . . . try to take her seriously, okay?"

. . . She was eleven! He couldn't risk hurting a Teyrn's daughter. Anora would never let him hear the end of it if he did. Never mind how Elissa's parents would react. Cailan acknowledged Fergus's warning with an absent nod, but made up his own mind how to handle the match.

Elissa's form wasn't bad, probably better than his at that age, and she rushed him with surprising ferocity. He swept her blade wide and tapped her lightly in the side as she stumbled past.

With little wasted movement, she checked her momentum and faced him again, eyes flashing, indignant.

He let her trade a few blows with him, using only enough force to stop her swings, not enough to jar her arms. Elissa's frown of concentration deepened into a scowl. Maker, she would be a handful in a few years!

"Cailan . . ." Fergus warned.

Distracted by her brother, her guard slipped too far for inexperience to excuse. Cailan gently shoved her backward. Before she could regain her footing, he lunged, brought his blade in under hers, and poked her in the ribs, just firmly enough for her to feel it through the armor. She dropped her sword.

"Here it comes."

Cailan started to turn, to ask what Nate meant. He caught a glimpse of Fergus, face twisted with panic, one arm raised in a warding gesture. The impact drove the air from Cailan's lungs and sent him to his knees. It almost knocked him over. A weight clung to his head and shoulders, snarling incoherent rage. Bright lines of pain scored the sides of his face. He grasped at tiny wrists and hands, but fingers twisted into his hair, refusing to be dislodged. Smells of grass and dirt and clean sweat tickled his nose.

"Hey! What's the matter with--ow!"

"Patronizing . . . arrogant . . . sod . . . " She had an impressive vocabulary for a child. Spending too much time around--

"Elissa!" Fergus grabbed his sister around the waist and tried to pull her off, but she wrapped her legs around Cailan and stuck like a burr. "Damn it, Liss!" He pried at her fingers. "You can't just maul Ferelden's-- Ouch!"

"Well, you did warn him," Nathaniel said, clearly more amused than concerned. He moved behind them, somehow unhooked Elissa's feet from around Cailan's ribcage, and lifted her small weight from his shoulders. "There, Fergus, now get her hands."

"Let me go!" Elissa thrashed, none too pleased with the situation.

"You hush."

The drag on Cailan's scalp finally eased, then relented all together. "There we go," Fergus said. "Are you all right, Cailan? The scratches don't look too bad."

"He got off lightly. He still has all his hair."

"Most of it," Elissa grumbled.

Cailan staggered upright, pressed his fingers against his scalp and gingerly assessed the damage to his face. Nothing serious, but Maker's Blood, those scratches _stung_.

Assured Cailan wasn't hurt, Fergus turned his attention to his sister and Nathaniel. He watched Elissa warily, clutching one hand, teeth marks glaringly obvious on the flesh between his thumb and forefinger.

Following suit, Cailan was rather surprised--Nathaniel held the girl entirely off the ground, her arms pinned to her sides, at just such a height that she could neither bite nor headbutt him. However she struggled, she didn't seem to be going anywhere. A few golden strands of hair clung to her fingers, drifting away in the light breeze even as Cailan watched.

"What . . . why did . . . what just happened?"

"You didn't take her seriously."

"So I'm supposed to risk injuring a Teyrn's--"

"Don't be silly," Fergus said. "I didn't say not to hold back."

"But, then--"

"Incompetent," Elissa broke in. "No control of his--"

Nathaniel jostled her into silence. "I told you to hush."

That coaxed a weak laugh from Cailan. "Well, you seem to have the situation well in hand."

"Practice. Delilah used to throw some impressive tantrums, and Thomas still does. Although I daresay Lissa is a bit more-- Hey! Mind your feet!"

"I _was_ ," she growled.

"I was afraid of that." With a quick twist Cailan wasn't sure he followed, Nathaniel pinned Elissa's ankles between his knees. His posture looked a bit awkward and unstable, like one good thrash would take them both down, but he kept his balance with little visible effort.

Fergus smirked. "Um . . . Nate . . ."

"Don't. Don't even _think_ it."

Before Cailan could question that odd exchange, voices from the direction of the castle proper interrupted him.

"--all more than capable--"

"--not likely to get inside the walls . . . still, to be safe--"

"Oh, no," Fergus groaned, suddenly somber. "You've done it this time, El."

She stuck out her tongue. "It isn't _my_ fault he's a--"

"No. Not another word. You say anything else, I'll never rescue you from Mother's comportment lessons again."

Though her glare turned downright baleful--if looks could kill, they'd _all_ be dead--she held her tongue.

Just then, Bryce Cousland, Rendon Howe, and-- _sod it, Father_ \--rounded a corner into view. Behind their fathers trailed the Grey Warden, Duncan, looking mildly amused at this odd disruption. Only Maric seemed at all concerned. Bryce was clearly humoring him, and Rendon--

"Really, now. We interrupted our discussion for squabbling children?"

Sour as ever.

"Nathaniel, put her down. That's disgraceful. Not to mention improper."

"Father, that might not--"

Maric looked to Cailan for an explanation, but stopped short. "What happened to your face? What in the Maker's name is going on here?"

Both Fergus and Cailan tried to answer at once.

"Well, you see--"

"Apparently, I upset--"

"A moment, you two," Bryce interrupted. "Nate, keep hold of her, would you?" He sounded tired, but not without humor.

"Yes, ser."

"Good lad. My apologies, Maric. It seems my daughter felt the need to demonstrate her considerable temper."

"Really, Bryce. This tiny child?"

Elissa opened her mouth, but only a squeak emerged, hastily bitten off. It looked like Nate might've pinched her.

"Don't let her size and pretty face deceive you," Rendon said. "The girl's a little hellion. Can't leave her and my youngest alone five minutes but they're at each other's throats."

"He--"

"In all fairness," Nathaniel spoke over her protest, and she puffed up like an angry cat at the continued indignity, "Thomas usually starts it. Although I daresay I've never seen him finish it."

Fergus snorted. "Elissa definitely started this one. Father--"

"I know." Sighing deeply, Bryce ran a hand through his greying hair. When had he started to look old? Cailan couldn't remember, but he was willing to bet Elissa was responsible for most of that grey.

After a moment, Bryce seemed to come to a decision. He vaulted the fence into the training ring, no signs of age in his actions, and crouched before his daughter.

For the first time since she'd asked to spar, some of her brash confidence slipped into uncertainty.

"Elissa, you do know who Cailan is-- _what_ he is--to Ferelden?"

She hunched her shoulders, huddling back against Nathaniel. "He's Mar-- _King_ Maric's heir."

"Precisely. And you know what that means for Ferelden's future."

"S-someday Cailan will be king?"

Bryce nodded. "You're fortunate. King Maric and Prince Cailan are forgiving men." He turned enough to hide his expression from her and winked conspiratorially at Cailan, who found himself smiling back. "And in Ferelden, we prize determination such as yours."

"What d'you mean?"

"Well, if you assaulted the heir of another kingdom, the ruler could well ask for your life in reparation, and would be within their rights to do so. I could do little to stop them."

"Really, Bryce! There's no need to terrorize the poor girl." Maric gripped the fence, as though considering leaping to her rescue. "Cailan was hardly in any serious danger--"

Rendon burst into uncharacteristic laughter, and even the usually reserved Warden seemed amused.

"Tell that to the guard she sent to the infirmary last week," Fergus muttered.

Maric stared at him, disbelief warring with the slow realization that the situation indeed warranted a serious response.

"All right, Fergus, that's enough." Bryce stood, regarding his daughter thoughtfully. To Cailan's mind she seemed more sullen than repentant, but whatever Bryce saw satisfied him. "I think you can let her go now, Nathaniel. Elissa, get yourself out of that armor and go find your mother. I'm sure she'll find something to keep you occupied and out of trouble. We'll decide an appropriate punishment later. Unless Maric or Cailan have something particular in mind?"

"Not at all," Maric answered, as Nathaniel set Elissa gently on her feet. "I wouldn't presume to interfere in the raising of your children."

Duncan broke his observatory silence. "That both are such spirited, driven individuals does suggest he's doing rather well."

That coaxed a bark of laughter from Maric, though Rendon just rolled his eyes. Bryce, wisely, said nothing.

Elissa sniffed a little, like a grand lady considering a tantrum, but she thought better of it. She drew herself up with all the considerable dignity of a well-bred child, curtsied to her father, and again to Maric, Rendon, and Duncan, and started Toward the castle with her head high, despite the shame burning scarlet in her face.

Should she really be punished for expecting her desire to learn to be taken seriously? That wasn't exactly the point of it, but . . . it didn't feel right.

"Lord Bryce, don't be too hard on her. It was partly my fault for treating her request with less respect than it deserved." He noticed Duncan watching the girl speculatively and for one irrational moment wished he hadn't spoken. The Warden Commander was always scouting for potential recruits, and as a boy, serving with the Wardens had been Cailan's greatest dream. Living out the old tales . . . But as Ferelden's heir, his other responsibilities took priority. Duncan wouldn't have him.

"I appreciate your compassion, Cailan," Bryce answered, reclaiming Cailan's attention, "and your forthrightness. But it's her conduct I seek to correct. Her self-control . . . needs work."

"Her self-control is non-existent," Rendon muttered.

Now _that_ was uncalled for. The girl heard him, too--her steady, determined steps faltered slightly, but she pressed on.

"Elissa!" Cailan called after her.

She hesitated, turned. "Yes, my lord?"

Maker, but that stung! Such a bright spirit shouldn't be stepped on.

_And what was I doing but the same, treating her like she didn't know what she was asking for in a spar?_

Her eyes narrowed with thinly disguised impatience. Hard to blame her for wanting to leave quickly.

"Next time I visit Highever, perhaps we should have a rematch."

The others all stared at him, reactions ranging from shock and disgust--primarily Rendon--to barely-contained amusement from Fergus and, surprisingly, Nathaniel.

Cailan ignored them. A lady of his kingdom had suffered insult at his actions. Was it not his responsibility to appease her?

Whatever Elissa's initial response would have been, she checked it and reconsidered. "Perhaps," she said at last. Then, with a renewed spark of mischief, she added, "If you ask nicely." And she dashed off, dignity cast aside like an unwanted cloak in summer heat.

Several comments burst out at once. Cailan's laughter drowned them all.


End file.
